When Brothers Meet Brothers
by RandomSpeedReader
Summary: Sam and Dean are in Bayport while Dad is two towns over on a case. What happens when people in Sam's new school start dying, and it seems to be something supernatural? And two brothers who know nothing about hunting are just as determined to solve this crime? Lots of brotherly banter, fluff, humor, Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean, basically the works.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural, or the Hardy Boys. Also, there's character death, but not any of the major ones.**

**Sam is 17, Dean is 21, Joe is 17, and Frank is 18.**

**Enjoy! And don't forget to review!**

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PROLOGUE

Callie Shaw knocked on the front door hesitantly. She stepped back, taking in the appearance of the house. It was an old blue-painted Victorian, one of the few ones left in Bayport which hadn't been renovated. The pathway leading to the front door was lined with huge flowerpots up to the porch which had a rocking chair with a blanket on it. Callie was trying to decipher the figures on the blanket when she heard footsteps and the door swung open.

"Ah, Miss Shaw, is it?" Mr. Peterson, her history teacher smiled down at her. "Come in, come in."

Callie followed the 60-something man into the house. The inside was modestly furnished, with a soft cushy couch on one side, a coffee table in front of it and a real fireplace opposite, with flames crackling merrily.

"Please, sit. I think I have what you're looking for in my study. I'll be right out."

As he left, an old woman came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray with cups. She was slim, with graying hair framing the austere face of a woman used to having her own way. She was wearing a clean apron over a beautiful, but worn dress. She set down the tray and offered her a hand.

"Hello, dear, I'm Melanie. Would you like some tea?"

Callie shook her hand and declined the tea.

"You know," Mrs. Peterson said, taking off the apron and putting it on the back of the couch, next to Callie's jacket. "Harvey was never going to go back to teaching. But we're not exactly rich, and we do need an income to keep us going. I hate that he's away most of the day, but what can I do?"

Callie nodded uncertainly. She had no idea how to answer that. "So, how long have you been living here?"

"Well, most of our lives, I suppose," Mrs. Peterson sat next to her and helped herself to some tea. "We came after the birth of our son."

"Oh, where is your son, now? Did he move away to another city?"

Mrs. Peterson's grip on her teacup tightened. "He's dead, dear."

"Oh." Callie shifted awkwardly.

Fortunately, Mr. Peterson arrived at that moment, and his wife excused herself, put the apron back on, and busied herself in the kitchen.

* * *

"Mom? I'm home!" Callie called out as she let herself into the house. The delicious aroma of dinner hit her nostrils.

After dinner, Callie readied herself for bed. She brushed her hair, got into bed and switched off the light, when she felt a piercing pain in her stomach. She almost cried out, clutching her middle.

She felt another stab of pain and rolled out of bed, falling onto the floor in mass of blankets. She reached up a hand to switch on the light, and screamed.

Her bedside lamp illuminated her hand, which was covered in what looked like blood. She looked to her stomach in horror, and screamed again when she saw the deep gashes still forming. She was bleeding freely, blood pooling on the floor and soaking into the sheets.

Her parents ran up to her room on hearing her screams, but when they reached, she was already dead.

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	2. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural.**

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CHAPTER – 1

_Two Days Ago_

It was a sunny day in Bayport, Barmet Bay. The roads were virtually empty as the black '67 Chevy Impala rolled into town, blasting Metallica's "Ride the Lightning".

Seventeen-year-old Sam looked out the window as his brother pulled into the motel they were supposed to stay in. Dad was a couple states over, working a job. The place he was in didn't have decent roads, let alone schools, and John didn't want Sam to miss the beginning of the year. So while Dad took care of the case, Sam was going to have to go to Bayport High with the rest of the kids.

_At least, _he reasoned,_ He wouldn't be joining at the end of the year._

Dean glanced at his brother in concern before killing the engine. His brother hadn't spoken a word since that hell of a fight he had with Dad, Dean acting as referee as usual.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean punched his brother lightly on the shoulder before getting out of the car. "Help me out with the stuff."

While he got the bags inside, Dean paid for their room with a credit card owned by a "Mr. Ian Gillan". The room they got was quite nice, compared to some of the motels dad had taken them to. At least this one didn't have a cockroach infestation in the bathroom, or a suspicious looking stain on the mattress.

Once they settled in, Dean turned to Sam. "So, where d'you wanna go for lunch?"

"I saw this nice place on the way here," Sam said, shrugging on his jacket. "How do you feel about pizza?"

"Mr. Pizza?" Dean asked incredulously, peering through the car window as he parked the car. "You wanna have lunch at a place called 'Mr. Pizza'? What are you, seven?"

"Shut up, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes. "There are a lot of people here our age."

"Whatever."

The inside of the pizza parlor was just as he had expected: bright colored booths with the Mr. Pizza logo at the centre of the table, smiling waitresses who didn't look under thirty wearing bright aprons, serving families with young children. But the place was also filled with teenagers who were enjoying the last of their holidays before school began.

They took a table in the corner and gave their order to the smiling woman. Sam looked around as they waited for their food. Dean was checking his messages, in case Dad had called.

The group closest to their table was the largest. They were all laughing at a joke which a blonde-haired guy was telling. He looked about Sam's age and was quite buff. The guy sitting next to him looked a little older and leaner, with brown hair, eating fries. But the similarity was there: they must be brothers. Next to the brown-haired guy, clutching his arm was a pretty blonde sipping coke, obviously the brown-haired guy's girlfriend. Opposite to them was a plump guy stuffing a burger into his mouth, next to him another blonde, really tall muscular guy. Suddenly, Dean snapped his fingers, startling him.

"Our food's here, Sammy," he said around an enormous mouthful of extra-cheesy Chicken Barbeque Large Pizza. Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust at his brother's lack of table manners, then dug in.

He looked back at the table in time to see an Italian-looking boy with curly hair going over to talk to the group. A badge on his button down shirt which read 'MANAGER' caught his eye.

After a while, the group got up to leave, and Sam returned to watching his ass of a brother stuff himself with pizza. "So, did Dad call?"

Dean swallowed, picked up another piece and shook his head. "Not yet. I'll check in with him tonight, see if he needs any help."

"You think he'll tell you if he does?" Sam scoffed.

Dean ignored him, choosing to take another humongous bite of pizza. He had no intention of getting into the frequently brought-up discussion of Dad and his 'sucky authoritarian crap and fake tough-guy front'.

"So when does school start?" Dean said, changing the subject.

"Tomorrow," Sam said. "Which reminds me, we need to refuel so I can drive to school and-"

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa!_" Dean waved his hands around to stop his brother. "You? Drive? Not happening."

"Dean!" Sam said, exasperated.

"Not. Happening." Dean repeated firmly. "I'll drive you. Not much to do here in freaking Apple-Pie Town anyway."

Sam just shook his head. Downing the last of his pizza, Dean got up, threw some money on the table and grabbed his jacket. "Let's get back, we don't want the maids to see the guns."

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	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER – 2

Frank parked their van in the school parking lot and got out, looking over the roof at his brother, who did the same a moment later.

"Okay, here's another one for you," He said, joining him to walk side by side as they sauntered toward the school building. "What are the main conflicts of Shakespeare's _Macbeth_?"

Joe let out an exaggerated groan, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Oh, drop it already! Who in their right minds would actually _do_ the summer reading assignment? The whole point of holidays is that no one studies!"

"You have a quiz today, Joe," The elder Hardy berated him. "Come on, it can't be that hard, we saw the adaptation of The Great Gatsby just last year, and dad took us to the play-"

"Yeah, but I wasn't actually paying attention! I'll just ask Biff." He muttered and stalked off to his locker.

"You shouldn't cheat!" Frank called out as his brother practically galloped away. Shaking his head, he turned to his own locker, only to find his path intercepted by his girlfriend Callie.

"Hey, you," She smiled. "Walk me to class?"

Frank grinned back. "Sure."

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Joe slammed his locker shut and strode to his first class. He hated it when his brother was bossy and uptight and _righteous._

"You're in a bad mood," Biff Hooper observed as Joe slammed his books down and sat, seething.

Joe was about to answer when he noticed the boy he had seen in Mr. Pizza yesterday. He was really tall, with an unruly mop of brown hair that looked in need of a haircut. He watched as the boy sat next to him, glanced at him, and did a double take.

"You," He stared. "You were- you were in Mr. Pizza yesterday."

"Joe Hardy, pleased to meet you," He said, extending a hand.

"Sam Winchester."

Before they could say anymore, the English teacher came in. "Good day for pop quizzes today, folks!" He said cheerfully. "Hope you did your reading!"

Joe let his head flop on to the desk.

* * *

"Hello, kids, I am Professor Peterson. I'm your new History teacher," The 60-something man greeted the class.

Frank took in the good-natured craggy face framed by brown-red hair and grey sideburns. A shabby but clean shirt covered his stocky frame. His trousers looked several years old, but still in good condition. All in all, he looked like a nice guy.

"Now, if you all could turn to page 4 of your textbooks, we could start off on a very interesting topic, the First World War!" He tried and failed to gain any response from the class.

Callie sighed. "This is going to be a _long_ forty-five minutes," She commented.

"It's a double period," Frank whispered across to her, laughing at the expression on his girlfriend's face.

* * *

When the bell signaling recess rang, the students from Joe's class poured out into the halls, chatting excitedly, making their way to the canteen. Joe still sat at his desk, head in hands. Biff patted his back.

"It wasn't that bad," He said soothingly. "I mean, you knew the titles and authors, at least."

Joe groaned loudly. "I'm getting an F, and my stupid brother's going to gloat. I just know it."

"You're not getting an F. Okay, maybe a D, at the most."

"Oh, forget it." Joe got up and started gathering his books. "I'll make up for it."

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The canteen was a mess as usual. Joe dodged a grape and led the way to his brother's table. On the way, he noticed the guy from Mr. Pizza, Sam, standing alone, unsure of where to go.

"Hey, Sam!" Joe yelled over the ruckus. A pair of terrified hazel eyes met his. He gestured to where his brother was. "Come on over to our table!"

Sam gave him a thumbs up and trudged to join Frank, Callie and the others. Soon, Joe and Biff got him acquainted with everyone else.

"So, Sam, What brings you to Bayport?" Chet asked genially.

"Um, my father's on a job two towns over, so I'm going to school here till then," Sam replied hesitantly. "We'll probably be out of here in a couple weeks."

"What does your father do?" Frank asked, interested.

"Um, uh," Sam stammered. "He-he's kinda-he's a travel agent."

"Oh."

Sam spent the rest of the meal in silence. Frank looked at him, troubled.

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By the time school let out, Joe was completely burnt out. He grabbed his books from his locker and walked to the parking lot to meet his brother. Sam was standing a few meters away, waiting for something.

"Do you need a ride?" Joe asked.

"No, I'm good," Sam said, waving him away. "My brother's coming to pick – there he is."

Joe followed his line of sight till he saw a black vintage car make its way into the lot blasting rock music, and a young man, not more than twenty, waved at Sam.

"So," Frank said from inside the van. "How was your quiz?"

Joe rolled his eyes and got into the van without a word.

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	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER – 3

When Sam and dean arrived at the school the next day, they had to park a block away on account of the crowd and the media.

"What the hell?" Dean got out and pushed his way through to the source of the commotion. Sam followed his brother.

They reached the building in time to see the principal escorting Mr. Peterson into a car, presumably his own, and signaling the driver to drive, while the media pounded the windows and thronged around the car and principal.

Suddenly, Mrs. Campbell, the school secretary, came out of the building toting a microphone. "All media personnel please head down to the police station for the official statement, you are no longer welcome on our grounds. Students note, classes will be resuming tomorrow as usual. As of now, all of you can head home."

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_Two Days Later_

"Where'd all the reporters go?" Dean wondered aloud as he pulled up at the school. "This town isn't exciting enough for them to have found something better already."

"Maybe the school got a court order or something." Sam shook his head, reading the article in the newspaper. "Dean, listen to this: 'The police are baffled by the lack of evidence. The windows of the second-floor bedroom were shut and latched, and the front door was locked securely. There was no murder weapon, or fingerprints. Until now, there is no evidence that the murderer was even in the room the night Callie Shaw was brutally murdered. Harvey Peterson, the prime suspect in the case was released yesterday due to lack of evidence. Peterson was not available for comment.'"

"Yeah, so?"

"Doesn't any of this seem weird to you?" Sam gestured to the article, which featured a candid photograph of Mr. Peterson being led out of the police station. "I mean, no way of getting in or out, no prints?"

"Sam," Dean warned. "This is not our kind of job."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you do this every time!" Dean banged the steering wheel exasperatedly. "Remember the 'shapeshifter' who turned out to be a hobo with a skin condition?"

"I was _twelve_!"

"Just get out, you're gonna be late."

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Alex Wright slouched his way through the hall and pushed open the door marked "DETENTION". The room was empty. He grinned and turned around to leave, when he found himself nose to nose with Mr. Peterson.

"Going somewhere, Mr…" He checked the slip of paper clutched in Alex's hand. "Wright?"

"Uh, no sir," Alex shook his head.

"Well, looks like it's just you and me," Peterson sighed, and made his way to the desk. "Have a seat while I make a call to my wife."

Alex slumped into the chair and stared out the window listlessly.

"Mel?" Peterson spoke into the phone. "I won't be able to make it to lunch today, I'm afraid…duty calls…yes I know…I'm sorry…okay, love you."

Peterson sighed and shut his phone, looking at Alex piercingly. "My wife isn't very happy, son. I have never missed lunch at home since…" He trailed off, then sat with a sigh.

Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded on the door. Alex got up and swung open the door to find an old lady, looking very tired. She had a package covered in a blanket. She smiled at him, then looked over his shoulder at Mr. Peterson. "There you are!"

Alex stood aside to let Mrs. Peterson through, closing the door after her. "Sweet boy," She said, running her hand through his hair. She went over to the desk and laid the package on the table. "Since you couldn't make it to lunch, I brought the lunch to you."

Mr. Peterson's eyes widened when he saw the blanket. "Why did you-"

"He's always had lunch with us before, why change things now?" she interrupted, briskly removing the blanket and placing it beside the bag gently. "Well, I'll get going. Enjoy your lunch!"

Mr. Peterson scowled at the blanket, then shrugged and began eating.

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Alex was bored to tears already, and there was still another hour to go before he could leave. Mr. Peterson was grading papers, shooting a glance at the blanket now and then.

"Can I go to the bathroom?"

Mr. Peterson started, then nodded. "Make it quick, son."

Alex made his way out into the hallway, pausing to contemplate running for it. _Nah, _he thought. _I'll get another couple hours detention tomorrow._

He went into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Facing the mirror, he splashed some water on his face. Suddenly, he felt a stab of pain in his abdomen.

He groaned, clutching his stomach. The pain increased, and he screamed, falling to the floor. He tried to brace himself but his bloody hand slipped on the marble. He screamed again, louder.

He was dead in a pool of blood when the security guard ran in to investigate the source of the screaming.

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